Daggers of the Mind
by SiNafey
Summary: A group of friends are hired onto what seems like a routine search and destroy mission and accidentally uncover a sinister plot more broad and elaborate than they could have ever imagined. Better than the summary, honest.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the prologue! I hope you enjoy it. I apologize if it's a bit lacking in detail but it's been a long time since I've sat down to write something and not had a set length it needed to be. It'll get better as I go on. Also, I tried to make this as accurate to the Forgotten Realms Campaign Settings as I could, but since it is based off of something that I came up with entirely on my own, there's bound to be inaccurate parts and if you find them and you point them out, I'll try to correct them- so long as they don't mess with the integrity of the story that is.

Anyways, read and enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Forgotten Realms or any part of it. The only thing I get from this is entertainment.

**Prologue**

He awoke with a splitting pain in his head, the worst headache he could remember from his entire life. He had been particularly prone to headaches as a child, and was no stranger to the throbbing pain they brought. This one was different. It was much more painful, yet it had an openness that he couldn't describe. He felt as if his consciousness was extended, like he was more aware and more awake then he had ever been. Even if his body felt like he had died, his mind felt very much alive.

The headache began to fade and the openness, that blissful sense of connection to one's self, began to expand until he felt that his mind could engulf the entire realm. It was unsettling and strange, but at the same time made him feel powerful- something he had never known.

Ordelieus opened his dark eyes, gingerly pushed his light brown hair from his face, and pushed himself up on arms that could barely support his weight, shaking all the while, to take in his surroundings. He was high up in a tower made entirely out of glass. The floor beneath him, the walls, the ceiling, and even the other levels visible underneath him where made entirely of the hardest glass he had ever seen. It was old- definitely older than his 36 years- that was certain, and yet it was strong. It seemed almost like the fine metal that dwarves crafted their weapons out of. It even rippled as if it had be folded back onto itself hundreds of times.

Ordelieus stood up carefully, his normally strong soldier's limbs still weary and stumbled over to the grim covered glass that made up wall of the circular room he was in. He pulled his sleeve over his hand and scrubbed a small circle clean and peered out.

The tower was in the center of a large, foul looking marsh. Plants grew wild and uncontrolled from years without hands to cut them back. They had invaded the entire area, right up to the base of the tower where they were steadily making their climb up the sides.

Ordelieus had no idea where he could be or how he had gotten there. The last thing he could remember was talking to a strange man on his way back to his modest home at the end of another long shift on the guard walls in Surkh. The man had had a strange charisma about him, and Ordelieus had followed him into a dark building against his better judgment. Even now he found it odd how easily the man had convinced him to follow.

And now he was here. He cursed himself silently, hoping his wife and children would be okay until he found his way back from where ever he was…

And then he was no longer concerned with them. A greater purpose had taken complete hold of his mind, body, and soul. He had been given a purpose and a new life. A plan formed in his mind, completely without his bidding but he knew that it was his mission to see it carried out to the very end. Renewed strength flowed through his body and he walked to the glass stairs and started his way down, running his hands along the walls as he went.

The grim and dirt of years of neglect fell off the walls to the floor and flowed behind him as he descended the glass spiral staircase to the bottom floor and went out the only door. Ordelieus turned and looked at his work. The tower looked back at him, translucent and perfectly clean, small amounts of dirt still flowing out of it into the marsh behind him. He admired his work. The tower stood glistening in the light as only glass could, catching it and reflecting it off of the many facets along the walls.

Ordelieus smiled, pleased that he had been reborn with such ability. He turned to survey the rest of his newfound kingdom. In the small clearing there where more towers and buildings of glass, all just as filthy as the one he had restored. That had to be corrected.

He moved to the nearest one, clearing the area around it as he went. He pushed the plants back, clearing a path, and ripped up the ones that were too stubborn, all without lifting a finger.

The building was a low, long one that proved to be a barracks capable of holding nearly one hundred soldiers. It had run down and ancient furnishings inside it as well as what looked to be a crude cooking area.

Ordelieus looked at it all with disdain. Nothing but the buildings themselves were worthy of the glory that he would build here. It would all have to be replaced.

Behind the first barracks was several others, all of about the same size, that Ordelieus cleaned in sort order. Along with the barracks, he found a stable, inn, observatory, and several homes- all entirely of glass. He cleaned them all. Just as he was about to call the job done, he found what he had hoped for.

Set off to the side, far from the rest of the buildings, was a large palace made entirely of glass. It rose up nearly as tall as the watch tower he had awoken in and was twice as grand. Large towers rose up from its four corners and flying buttresses of glass supported its massive weight. There was a moat around it, created naturally by the marsh, with a glass draw bridge that had not been lowered in many years. Even the housing of the draw bridge was grand and elegant.

Ordelieus frowned. How could he claim his palace if he could not reach it?

The answer came to him as if it had been written in his mind all along. He reached out with his thoughts, just the same as he had when cleansing the buildings, and forced the drawbridge down. The old chains groaned and grinded as the bridge lowered, but they held strong. He then crossed it- cleaning as he went- and walked into his palace.

The front doors had to be forced open, but Ordelieus was more than capable of letting himself in. The main hall that was revealed to him after those filthy glass doors swung open was the most grand he had even seen. Even the castle in Surkh couldn't compare. But, then again, nothing would be as grand as his palace. He walked room to room, cleaning and exploring as he went. There were servants quarters- which would need to be filled, a grand kitchen, a marvelous dining room that could sit well over a hundred guests, an exquisite library, hundreds of rooms for guests from neighboring kingdoms, a dungeon, and the quarters for the royal family, which proved to be spacious and elaborate. The entire palace was decorated with reds and golds- though they hardly looked it anymore. Ordelieus had the entire building memorized after one round trip, but he made several more just to make sure he hadn't missed a single detail. Of course, he hadn't.

This would do well, it would all do well. He needed only to fill it with subjects and servants to run it- that was the first step after all.

Ordelieus had spent many hours in the palace by the time he returned to the king's quarters- his quarters- to rest before starting the next phase of his plan. He sat down on the shabby but recently cleaned bed, it marvelously held his weight, and fell into a deep meditative state, his strength returning all the while.

* * *

When Ordelieus awoke, he immediately went into the library that he had found on the fourth floor of his palace. It was still dark out, but he wouldn't need the light from the sun to read. That was something he was certain of, another thing that seemed to make no sense, but fit perfectly with who he had become.

He hadn't spent much time in the library, just long enough to clean it, so he wasn't sure if it even held the item that he was looking for, but it was worth a try. He started on the rightmost wall and walked slowly around, scanning the ancient tomes for what he needed. It took him nearly an hour before he was standing in front of a book shelf filled with scrolls.

Perfect. He focused for a moment on the medium-sized table he had seen on the other side of the room and it slide across the floor to come to a stop just behind him.

He took the scrolls out one by one, gently unrolling them and reading them, then discarding the incorrect ones onto the waiting table. The scrolls were fascinating. Each one was filled with ancient magic. Each one radiated a power that was unbelievable. How could such treasures have remained hidden for so long? Ordelieus made a mental note to study the scrolls intensely once his plan had progressed farther.

After several hours of searching the scrolls he found what he was looking for. He summoned a chair from across the room and sat down on it at the table he had called earlier. He gently pushed the other scrolls to the side and unrolled the scroll to its full length on the table.

It was a map unlike any he had ever seen. It had such detail that it could only have been elven made, elven made over the course of a century. It had faded considerably, but the details that it contained were still unmatched by any map he had ever laid eyes on. He marveled at it for quite some time, taking in all the bends to the rivers that had been so meticulously drawn. Once he was certain that it was accurate, having studied the area that was drawn of his former home, he searched for some indication on the map that would give him an idea of where he was.

There could be no doubt. Ordelieus had awoken in the center of the Farsea Marshes. The city he had found had had a name once, but it had long ago been worn away by time. No matter, he was going to give it a more fitting name at any rate. The Farsea Marshes were located in what would certainly prove to be a complicated location. There was no easy way in, which made it very defendable, but there was also no easy way out. To the northeast were the Stonelands, a harsh desert bordered on the north by the vast and dangerous Saiyaddar Desert and the south by the Stonehorn Mountains. To the east of his marsh were the Sunset Mountains, and to the south, another marsh.

But there was a river. That was the one shining hope for Ordelieus' plan. The river started in the marshes and flowed all the way into the Dragonmere. It was common knowledge that civilizations always popped up along the sides of rivers, taking advantage of the irrigation, easy travel, and fishing possibilities, so it was likely that if one simply followed a river, one would find people.

And people were exactly what Ordelieus needed. He smirked to himself, stuffed the map into his belt, and marched out of the palace to the river head, well on his way to seeing this stage his plan come to fruitation.

* * *

Over the course of the next three fortnights, Ordelieus followed along the eastern bank of the river, searching for some sign of civilization. The river flowed out of the Farsea Marshes, across open grasslands, into the second marsh- named the Marsh of Tun on the map, and across more grasslands alongside the Stonehorn Mountains.

The entire trip was uneventful. Food was as easy to come by as lifting a fish from the river, which provided plenty of fresh, cool water as well. Danger seemed to avoid him all together. At several points during the trip, Ordelieus caught sight of an orc patrol, but something about him seemed to keep them away. This aggravated him to no end, since he was longing for something to test the extent of his strength and all opportunities seemed to avoid him all together.

Just as he was about to give up, back track, and risk wandering across open ground looking for a small village, Ordelieus caught sight of a bridge crossing the river on the horizon. Hope flittered back into his chest. Bridges like that one, a graceful stone arch, were expensive to build, a clear sign that he was approaching a fairly large town.

By nightfall he had reached the bridge and crossed it and the city was fast approaching to the southwest. From what he could see, it had high wall of stone and as he drew closer he could see guards marching along the top with torches held high to ward off the night.

Ordelieus retreated from the road a bit, finding a glen of trees in which to pass the night. Getting into this town by night would most likely be impossible for a strange man traveling alone with no wears to trade. So he would wait until dawn, and he would plot.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Welcome to the first chapter. I hope you enjoy it and as always I welcome any comments that you might have and appreciate any help keeping it true to the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting. And, also, please review.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of Forgotten Realms and I don't get anything out of this except something to do when I'm bored.

**Chapter One**

"We'll be making it into town by nightfall tomorrow, Miss Maeve. We've made excellent time thanks to you," a round man with a thick, dark beard by the name of Yorren called out from the head of the caravan. He held a tight rein on the draft horses pulling the large wagon as he added, "We'd have made it yesterday is it wasn't for all this mud! We might have been held up a whole week if you hadn't been here."

It had rained for three days straight, having finally slacked off that very morning. As a consequence, the roads had turned to slosh that ate the horse's hooves and the wagon wheels hungrily and grudgingly gave them back. The road had claimed several horse shoes already and if it hadn't been for Maeve's farrier skills, they might not have made it to their destination at all.

Maeve Haroc smiled down at the wagon driver- who also happened to be her employer- from the back of her large, bay stallion, Exilon, and replied, "I was just doing what you hired me for. I'm going to make a quick scan."

She wheeled her horse around and sent him into a quick canter, her long mahogany braid trailing out behind her. She guided the horse around the entire caravan, making sure everyone was doing okay and that none of the other horses pulling the wagons had lost shoes to the treacherous footing. She then scanned around for a second time, her sharp green elven eyes not missing a thing, this time looking out to the sides for any sign of raiders that might want to loot the caravan she was in charge of.

Maeve carried quite a reputation on her shoulders and was often hired to do just this. Even if one didn't know of her, it was easy to tell she was a warrior just from the balanced way she carried herself. She wore a longbow at her back, a dagger on her right hip, a long sword on the left, and an oblong buckler fitted with cruel hooks- all facing strategically towards the center- on her left arm. A foe would be a fool, and a dead one at that, to underestimate her. Many had done just that, taking her for a fragile elven maiden dressed up for war, and regretted it sorely.

After she was certain that nothing posed a threat on the caravan at that moment, she rode back up to the front where Yorren was lackadaisically chatting the ear off of a young boy sitting next to him. The trader was the type of person anyone would count themselves lucky to have met. When he laughed, he did it heartily and meant it, and when he frowned he only did so when something was truly wrong.

He was beaming and laughing as Maeve pulled Exilon up at an even pace with the wagon.

"How's everyone doing Miss Maeve?" he said while grinning from ear to ear.

Maeve couldn't resist the contagiousness of his grin and smiled as well replying, "All's well. Not a lame horse or filthy orc to be seen. For now." At her last statement, her smile fell from her face, replaced by her usual scowl of determination and focus. Her job was too dangerous to let her guard down for long.

Yorren's smile dropped a fraction of an inch as he watched her face, but his mirth would not be contained. "Well that's what I hired you for! Knew you'd get the job done, I did! Now, what do you say we ride straight up until twilight and then set up camp- might even get into town sooner that way!"

Maeve nodded curtly, "That will be fine. I'll tell the others."

She wheeled Exilon around again and began riding from wagon to wagon telling all the drivers and guards working under her Yorren's plan. No one argued, they were all eager to see this muddy road behind them. Maeve could not blame them. This escort had been one of the most drawn out and painful ones that she could remember. The rain had not helped it along at all either.

The road from Highmoon to Immersea had never been known for the ease travelers found in traversing it. The road cut through the Thunder Peaks via a narrow and danger filled pass. That leg of the trip was perhaps the most eventful, orcs crawled out of their mountain caves on more than one occasion but the caravan guard, led by Maeve who had plenty of experience with the creatures, had turned them aside every time.

After the pass, they had found no refuge while passing through Hullack Forest. Though the orcs had given way to their lesser cousins, the goblins, there was still more than enough trouble to be found.

They rested for a night in Arabel and shortly after leaving had been met with that accursed rain, the monotony of re-shoeing horses, and the itch of wearing drenched clothes for days on end. The walls of Immersea would be a welcoming sight indeed.

The caravan plugged along until the bottom rim of the sun was kissing the horizon, sending an explosion of reds and oranges into the clouds that still hung in the sky, heavy with what promised to be a night shower. Maeve surveyed the western sky with adoration. No matter how many sunrises and sunsets she would see in her long, elven life, they would never grow dull. She delighted in nature, in the simplicity of its existence and the complexity of its connections with all things. No matter how powerful the world of men, elves, and dwarves became, they would always bend to nature's might.

The caravan pulled off from the road just enough to form a tight circle out of the wagons. All the horses were unhitched from the wagons and let loose to graze in the circular center they had created. The cook and his workers immediately got to work starting a fire and preparing a meal for all forty people in the caravan. Everyone else was either grooming the horses or making sure everything was locked down for the night. Maeve stood somewhat off to the side, with Exilon standing loyally next to her without needing to be tied, grooming him absent mindedly.

Returning to town was always a bittersweet experience for Maeve. She was glad for the respite from the worries of the road, glad that her charges had safely reached their destination and that she was able to help. The concept of "town," however, was just the thing that bothered her.

Maeve had been raised by humans. What had become of her real parents, she had never found out, and she had never been overly worried about it- her adoptive family loved her like their own. Maeve had lived for nearly a century and a half. She had lived long enough to see her foster parents and even their natural born children grow old and die. She had seen the entire village grow old and die. Seemingly before she knew it, her trips out into the wilds became for longer and longer, until the day came that she returned to the small town where everyone had once known her to find that not one person even knew her face.

She had never returned home, and every time she arrived at a new town, she felt that same sense of distance between herself and the residents of the town. It was uncomfortable.

She was allowed only a brief moment for reliving her younger years before Yorren called her over to get some of the stewed beef that the cook had finished preparing. She waved to tell him that she was coming, replaced her grooming tools in the bag next to her bedroll, and reluctantly made her way over to where all the caravan's people were gathered, weaving through the grazing draft horses with Exilon following close behind her.

"Here you are, Miss Maeve," Yorren said, handing her bowl of food to her himself. "The old man did a good job on the food tonight!" He chuckled and sauntered off back towards were the cook was while shouting short orders at a couple of workers as he went.

Maeve sighed and sat down right where she was standing, crossing her legs and tilting the bowl up to her face. Yorren was right; the stew was delicious and filling. Exilon started grazing behind her while she drank her stew, deep in thought.

By the time Maeve starting making her way back across the sheltered circle of wagons, everyone else had already retired to their bedrolls. The guards could be heard circling around the wagons, alert for any signs of an ambush.

Maeve crawled under a wagon, and popped out right beside one of the guardsmen. He quickly drew out his long sword and held it up to her throat.

Maeve was amused. She could have easily escaped his blade, but she had decided at the last moment to let this play out for sheer amusement.

"Who are you?!" She chuckled. "Who you are I said!" he repeated, clearly becoming more tense and flustered by the moment.

"Lower your sword, Ponce," Maeve said calmly. She laughed again as Ponce gasped and quickly sheathed his sword. His pale complexion darkened and would have matched his red hair if it hadn't been night.

"I am so sorry Maeve! I did not expect you to just crawl out like that and-"

Maeve cut him off with an upraised hand. "It is fine, Ponce. I am glad to see that you have your wits about you. I just wanted to speak with one of you to make sure the watch has been set for the entire night. It has been, has it not?" She lowered her hand and looked at him inquisitively.

Ponce's face darkened again under her sharp, scrutinizing gaze. "It has been. We went over it throughout the course of the day and we all know our shifts."

"Good, I just wanted to be sure of it before I took my rest." Maeve put a hand on Ponce's shoulder, "Stay vigilant."

With that she turned and disappeared under the wagon once again. She crawled out on the opposite side and made her way back to her bedroll. Exilon was lying near to it, waiting for her safe return before resting himself. She unrolled her bedroll and crawled into it, muttered a good night to Exilon, and drifted into Reverie.

* * *

As the next day was drawing to a close, the walls of Immersea came into view on the horizon, wedged between the King's Forest and the southwestern corner of the Wyvernwater. The entire caravan seemed to gain more momentum as excitement built, the anticipation of their long waited arrival soon to be at an end.

The excitement was even getting to Maeve, who smiled lightly at everyone who approached her to quickly tell them how glad they were to see the city at the end of the road. Despite herself, she began to chat animatedly with them, recalling events from just a few short days ago like they were epic tales told by bards across the centuries.

The town rolled up quickly, even the horses seemed to be anticipating their arrival, and before the sun went down, they were lined up outside Immersea's thick, wooden gates awaiting approval for entry.

Maeve was up at the head of the caravan with Yorren when a series of loud clicks were heard resounding from behind a small, iron door on the right side of the main gates. A tall, thin man with a large, blonde mustache walked out from the door at a quick pace and walked right towards Yorren's wagon at the lead. His armor was elaborately decorated with brass scrollwork and his helmet sported a ridiculously large, purple plume on the very top. He carried a large and equally elaborate halberd in his right hand. His dress and stature marked his as the captain of the gate guard. Maeve frowned at him; she knew exactly what type of man this was.

When he arrived at the wagon, he slapped the handle of his halberd across his left hand and spread his legs wide; gazing up at Yorren like one would look at a child that had just been caught trespassing.

"State your name and your business," he said. The man's voice was sharp and direct. The voice of a man who was accustomed to having every one of his words well heeded.

Yorren beamed down at the arrogant man all the same. "My name is Yorren and this is my caravan here behind me," he said gesturing behind him. "We've come from Highmoon to trade our wares in your city." When he finished, he turned his eye quizzically on the guard, almost daring him to refute his claim.

The guard missed the glance entirely. "Very well, you must submit to an inspection. We've been having troubles lately. Orders are to inspect all the wagons coming in and going out." Without waiting for Yorren to give him his consent, he whistled loudly and four simply clad guards came rushing out of the same door he had passed through. "Give them their inspection."

The guards fanned out and began going through all the wares that Yorren was hauling with him- looking for what Maeve couldn't be sure. Yorren was sitting calmly in his seat, but his smile had faded completely from his face.

It wasn't long before it happened. Maeve had turned in her seat to glance behind her when she saw it. One of the guards, an over-weight, pox-marked man, was leaning lewdly in towards the daughter of the oldest man driving a wagon in the caravan- he was approaching 70. The man made a move to ward the guard off from his repulsed daughter and the guard slugged him in the ear. The sound of the contact could be heard sharply, even from Maeve's place at the front of the caravan. The man quickly retreated back into his seat, holding his bleeding ear tenderly as the guard grasped the maiden's arm and began to try and drag her from the wagon.

Maeve wheeled Exilon around in a flash and sent him into a headlong gallop towards the man. The man turned towards her at the last minute- far too late to avoid the consequences of his actions and exposing just what Maeve was going for. She had drawn out her longbow, all five feet of it. When she was even with the guard, she sat deep in her saddle, sending Exilon into a hard, sliding stop and used the momentum to bash the guard across his exposed throat with the hard wooden handle of her bow.

The guard released his grasp on the maiden's arm and fell back onto Exilon's side, gasping in pain. The stallion snorted and tossed his head, pinning his ears back in warning. The guard remained slumped back, oblivious to everything but the pain in his throat as he tried desperately to get air.

"It would be best for you if you got off of my horse's flank," Maeve stated angrily. She put her leg against her horse's side and he obediently scooted to the side causing the guard to fall over, sending him into a violent bout of coughing.

"What is the meaning of this!?" the captain shouted while running towards the scene, Yorren huffing at his heels.

Maeve casually slid her bow back into its place across her back and gestured towards the elderly man with the bleeding ear. "This man and his daughter were assaulted by your guardsman here. I think he'd be a better person to ask for a retelling."

The captain turned towards his man for an explanation. The guard tried to speak up, no doubt to refute Maeve's claim, but was capable of nothing more than a pitiful wheezing noise.

Maeve smirked and gestured back towards the old man, "He'll be your best bet. That guard will not be speaking for awhile, if ever again at all."

The captain looked furious, but by now someone had come over with bandages for the old man's bleeding ear and it was hard to turn aside from such obvious proof of an assault. He had no choice but to listen to the man's story.

The rest of the incident was short. The guard at fault was stripped of his title and hauled off by the men who had such a short time before been his equals to await trial. The caravan was allowed entry into the city shortly after that; the rest of the inspection going off without a hitch.

Maeve was ridding at the back of the caravan as it rolled through the gate. When she was about to enter the city, the captain of the guard called for her to halt. She complied, slightly annoyed, but trying not to cause any more of a stir.

The captain walked over towards her and stood very close to the side of her horse and spoke in a low voice, "If you cause another scene while you are in this town, you will be the one escorted to the jails. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Maeve looked down at the man with disdain. "You are full of nothing but piss and vinegar old man. Next time, choose the men you put under your charge more carefully and there will be no need for another 'scene'," she told him, her voice dripping with unspoken threats.

Without waiting for the man to step aside, she put her heels to Exilon's sides and he jumped forward into a swift hand-gallop. She caught up with the caravan easily and assumed her place at the front, beside Yorren's wagon. The round man was laughing and joking as if everything had gone just as expected.

Maeve sighed.

Welcome back to society.


End file.
